I headed towards the pedestrian passageway between two gardens, and before I crossed the boundary of the shadow, I knew what I would do. I would simply try to buy the van advertised by the disappeared businessman Kolonov. And see where it goes from there. But before that, I wanted to learn something about the local environment. And I'd start by getting acquainted with the nightlife.

Deciding not to go straight back to the hotel, I took a detour through a park lining the side of the main road towards Roznov. It seemed larger than I remembered; today, on one side, the School District spread according to the map. Previously, there were small, unsightly houses, but what was in them, I couldn't recall. Today, artificially created nooks were adapted even by street lighting to create romantically dim places.

In one such place, someone was waiting. He smoked, or at least spent some time recently in a heavily smoked environment. He didn't eat healthily, and he had consumed a lot of beer. Not today, more likely yesterday.

I had forgotten how amazingly sensitive my senses could be; in fact, I deliberately suppressed it for a long time so as not to remind me of certain things. When I didn't notice the smell of freshly set explosives, I allowed myself to use at least some of my innate abilities. But here, the sensitivity of my senses unexpectedly returned. And to a level I hadn't considered possible. Perhaps it was because I had returned home. Or because the entire pack was threatened.

Maybe.

There were four of them. One smoked, the second regularly drank large quantities of beer, the third sniffed something, and the fourth – I couldn't tell anything interesting about him. Otherwise, they all smelled similarly, with neglected clothes and unwashed bodies.

"Buddy, your wallet," said Beer Drinker.

"And your shoes, pants, and underwear," chuckled Smoker.

He liked humor, which is essentially a positive trait.

"Let's take him down," mumbled Sniffer.

It wasn't about the wallet; that was clear.

A metallic sound; it took me a moment to figure out what it was: the fourth was putting on a fist boxer and had a ring on his finger while doing so.

"Here it is," I said, reaching into my pocket, and handed my wallet to Beer Drinker.

He liked how smoothly it went; he reached for it, and in the dim light, his hair reflected the light. He had very light hair. Probably dyed. I let go of the wallet before he could touch it with his fingertips, instinctively reaching for it. As I did, I hung my hand and leaned slightly forward.

I grabbed his palm, pulled him towards me, simultaneously twisted his arm, and semi-circled him into the path of the guy with the boxer, who was also in motion. They collided, Boxers hands remained trapped behind his buddy's body. Without thinking, I grabbed his head, and before I realized what I was doing, I squeezed his eyes deep into his skull.

I used his dying body as support, kicked backward, and hit Beer Drinker where it hurt a lot. He ended up on the ground, but it looked like he would survive.

The click of a switchblade.

Smoker still didn't understand that he had jumped from the village championship to the super league in a single moment. But he waved that knife very quickly, albeit a bit clumsily. Those are the worst.

Right next to me was a bench. I pulled out one of its planks; it went worse than I expected, but I managed. It wasn't until I broke both his arms simultaneously with it that I realized it was a reinforced concrete pillar. I may have overdone it a bit, considering the circumstances.

Sniffer remained.

He stood in the deepest shadow; I could only see his eyes. The pupils were a bit too large; he took something.

"Run," I suggested to him.

It was pointless to hurt him.

As if I had said the wrong word, he raised the hand he had kept freely along his body all the time. I couldn't see it because he wore a loose ruffled cloak or poncho, or something similar. It was too dark for me too.

Whatever he was holding, he didn't have a chance to use it. I lunged at him with inhuman speed, and just as if I were wielding a sword – I thrust the concrete rib of the bench through his chest.

I realized that this time I had overdone it even more because the torn reinforcing wires passed through the body from side to side.

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Damn. I've been swearing too much.

I heard only my own rapid breath; sweat droplets formed on my forehead in the cold air, as usual after a fight. I looked around.

Beer Drinker lay curled up and focused only on himself. I didn't have to kill him. Smoker was in a similar situation, concentrating only on his broken arms. I didn't have to kill him either. He wouldn't remember anything.

At the same time, however, I didn't need a forensic technician to investigate what force had to be exerted to pierce the trunk through and through with such a blunt tool as a concrete bench rib. What I had to do wasn't nice, but I had to cover my tracks. I took a deep breath, tore the concrete club from the body, and began systematically beating the dead until the body lost its human shapes and turned into a bag of skin full of mashed insides and shattered bones. That should be enough. They won't have a clue about what happened here.

Now I was panting like an old steam locomotive with a series of heavy wagons behind it.

The whole collision lasted no more than two minutes, and most of it was taken up by the unpleasant butcher's ending.

I looked around for any potential witnesses, although I had no idea what I would do with them. The little park remained calm. I chose a path to disappear from here. Through the grass, among the bushes, which would allow me to blend in and avoid the view of random pedestrians – if I crouched.

I took a step, and in the moment I landed, I realized it was a mistake; then the train swept me away. If I hadn't twisted at the moment of contact with the ground, if the tip-toe – heel hadn't bent in my hips, if I hadn't simply thrown myself into a rotating motion, that blow would have killed me. Like a rotating ball, it grazed me, but even that was enough for me to fall three meters further into a miserable somersault over my shoulder.

I didn't get up; instead, with my back on the ground, I kicked my foot forward again and hit something that I perceived only as a blurry smear.

It was fast, light, and damn tough. I gained a fraction of time, dismissed the idea of escape, and that was a mistake.

A big, stupid mistake.

I catapulted to my feet; this time I saw him clearly. But he was closer than I expected and in motion. I blocked the first punch with my forearm, the second slid off my shoulder, the third off my temple. I didn't register them; dodges and blocks were purely instinctive. But I already had him by the neck and intended to choke him, then he hit me in the stomach. He didn't shoot; he hit me short with both hands simultaneously.

I flew through the air and stopped against a tree trunk. Before he reached me, I managed to stand. It took him a second longer because, in reaction to his blow, he slipped a step back and sank into the ground over his ankles.

I couldn't breathe, but that had to wait. My last chance was the kukri knife.

This time, he didn't go for fists, opting for a high side kick. From the position he took, I knew it in advance, but I didn't make it in time. It felt like another train. He broke through my defense, practically sweeping me off my attack, but I managed to slash him. I wanted to open his belly, but instead, I scratched his side.

It would have been enough for a human, but he wasn't human.

"I ended up in a somersault on the ground, only stopped by a tree. Thank goodness there were so many of them around."

He was on me before I could recover, and started beating me right on the ground. After the second kick, I groped for a piece of a branch and used it as a cover for a while. He quickly punched through the makeshift defense and then came my ribs, head, legs. With each kick, he broke something and tossed me further away. Then I landed on something stinky, mushy, and still warm. The guy I killed.

Another blow; twilight acquired a rainbow hue.

The end was approaching.

Another hit, a crunch in my throat. I rolled backward, and under my hand, I felt something cold. The gun of the guy I killed.

Luck in trouble.

It wasn't cocked, but that didn't matter; it slipped into my hand like it was alive—and the trigger clicked.

I shot at his shin whizzing towards my face; then it hit me. The gun gone, my nose almost flat, but the skull bones held.

He stood against me, on one leg, twisted in pain. Blood was gushing from his thigh. The bullet passed through the foot, calf, and a piece of the thigh. A hundred points for the hit. Finish him or run?

This time, I decided right.

Without thinking, I headed towards the darkness of fields and forests, away from lights and people. Just as people of my kind did long ago in the past, just as we did today when instincts prevailed over reason. I overcame the cemented bed of the stream, the road, and fell between two shrubs so that passing people wouldn't see me. I must have looked terrible, and that would scare them.

Then it took me some effort to get up again. The third time I succeeded. The rainbow outlines of the world gained sharpness and strength, prevailing over reality. I couldn't orient myself properly.

I waited until the string of lights broke, and in the dark gap, I stumbled across the road. For a while, the fence helped me in my path, maybe there were more of them, and eventually, I felt an unpaved surface under my feet. I climbed up the slope until my strength ran out, and grass stems stood high all around me. Breathing was difficult; I would prefer to lie down and do nothing. But I couldn't – if I wanted to survive.

In the break in the battle with my own weakness, helplessness, and pain, I started thinking again. Instinct served me well this time; they would have me in the city. They probably waited for me in the hotel room, and other guys in the city were looking for someone severely beaten.

Did I kill him? Probably not; that damn vampire was too good and old for my knife scratch and a well-shot bullet, even though it was well-shot. I would have to shoot his brain out of his skull to take him down.

Why the hell did the vampires attack us? I said us. I've been out for a third of a century, and suddenly it was against us. Why?

I could still hear the cars too clearly; I was too close. I had to keep going. They can sniff out blood all too well. There was moisture in the air. Maybe it's going to rain. That would help me. Survive. Just a little longer.